


Hibernation

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Future Torchwood, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years into life as a human, Castiel still severly dislikes the cold. He certainly hasn't lost his stubbornness, however, which can make rousing him from his nest on chilly mornings a chore. Especially in the sorts of dank underground caves Jack typically chooses for Torchwood headquarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hibernation

Even human for a few years, Castiel was still hypersensitive to the cold. His patient suffering through the frigid months made Jack feel a little guilty for choosing New York. They could have had Arizona, or Georgia, or hell, anything lower than the Mason-Dixon would have been better than eight-feet-of-snow, fourteen-below-zero, fuck-you-very-much New York City.

At least it wasn't Buffalo. Buffalo, Jack heard on the radio, had taken lake effect snow to new levels of dramatic. He snatched his cup of coffee off the counter and went angel hunting, determined to rout Castiel out of whatever warm spot he'd burrowed into.

He wasn't wrong. Castiel's quarters inside Torchwood 5 were as close to the heating units as they could reasonably allow. It was a sauna inside, and Jack was glad he normally went about in short sleeves. In the middle of the oversized bed was a relatively human-shaped lump. Jack sat his coffee mug on the bureau and sat down on the edge of the bed. "C'mon, slug-a-bed, we've got a new medic in this morning and I need you not half naked this time."

He squeezed what he assumed was a shoulder. A messy thatch of black hair appeared over the edge of the quilt. "Does this really necessitate an appearance from me?"

"You're my second in command, soldier," Jack said more firmly, "but Dawson's starting to show promise, and furthermore, she participates. Get your ass up or I'm replacing you."

"What's the temperature."

"Ambient? Outdoor?"

"Jack."

"It's twelve below outside."

The covers rustled. Castiel twisted, glaring up at him owlishly. "And how much snow is on the ground."

It wasn't really a question. "We're at four feet."

"She won't be in. No."

Jack sighed. "Fine. Dawson's at least more pleasant to look at in the morning."

"With all due respect, Jack," Castiel grumped, "go to Hell." But he rolled to the edge of the bed, sat up, and draped his furnace-warm naked body against Jack's back. So warm that Jack was tempted to just concede, strip down and crawl into that nest of flannel with him. But priorities. If the new medic didn't show on her first day of work at Torchwood, four feet of snow included, she'd better have a damned good excuse, involving aliens, a time slip or a dead cab driver.

"I've been there already, Hot Wings," Jack chuckled, and extricated himself with a languid kiss, "they were afraid I'd take over. Take a shower, I'd better see you upstairs in fifteen."


End file.
